


like blossoms in the wind

by nayt0reprince



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Arc 1 Spoilers, Gen, Mild Angst, Spring Harmony Zine 2018, mild angst with happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 22:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16376636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayt0reprince/pseuds/nayt0reprince
Summary: a song that begets reminiscence of a mother's face almost long-forgotten.





	like blossoms in the wind

**Author's Note:**

> heyo hey! this is ree here, and this is my piece that is brought to you by the IDOLISH7 "Spring Harmony" Zine! the zine's been out for quite some time now, but I completely and totally spaced on posting my work here, so. better late than never! shout-out to the fellow contributors - you guys rock!! anyhow, please enjoy!

Like a broken but well-loved and worn-out VHS tape, Tsumugi recollected vague memories of her late-mother in fragmentary snapshots rather than a fluid, cohesive motion picture: a snack shared together in late summer alongside a lazy stream; a pair of pink, rabbit-patterned mittens helping Tsumugi build a snowman; soft fingers running along her forehead to check her temperature; a crooked melody drifting lightly from the kitchen, out of sync with the rhythmic _chop-chop-chop_ from the kitchen knife. The last one in particular Tsumugi often found herself remembering as her brain tried to pluck out the lyrics between the sizzling stir-fried meat and heavy _thumps_ of delicious, sliced carrots toppling onto the cutting board.

She failed to piece it together each time, although it did not stop her from trying.

Like now. She chewed her pen tip, her brow furrowing in thought over the latest additions to Idolish7’s already-busy schedule. The hum bubbled up during her idle contemplation. She didn’t notice it (at first) as her attention fixated on the conflict between Yamato’s drama production and the music video shoot. If she pushed the music video back an hour (that would be twenty minutes this afternoon devoted to apologizing to the producers on the phone), they could make it in time. But then what about MEZZO”? That shoot was already scheduled so that they didn’t have to rush around as much. Sougo would say it’s no big deal, but after the _last_ health scare, she really didn’t -

“If you keep biting that hard, your pen will break.”

The sudden interruption jarred her out of her increasingly dismal thoughts and caused her to squeak, teeth grinding dangerously rough against the pen’s outer plastic. She sputtered, and the pen dropped from her lips, clattering onto the desk. Nearby, Banri laughed.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to shock you.”

“I-it’s all right!” She straightened her back and cleared her throat from embarrassment. “You, uh, look busy today.”

“Just a bit of secretarial housekeeping to start off spring cleaning. You know what they say, a clear something is a something else to do with cleaning.” He shrugged and gave her a chipper smile. “Besides, it gives me an excuse to stay indoors, given the weather.”

He pointed to the mess outside the window. Rain lashed at the glass as the skies, turbulent and blackened, reminded her of when the power went out at the first large concert Idolish7 ever performed. 

“It’s too bad,” she mumbled, her shoulders slumping a little, “I really wanted to hang my laundry to dry today.”

Banri nodded sympathetically. “I shouldn’t have put mine off yesterday.” He stacked his papers onto the shelves, paused, and glanced at Tsumugi, eyebrows quirking. “Your father sings that a lot, too. Family favorite of yours?”

“Huh?” She blinked, her fingers flinching away from the keyboard. “What?”

He chuckled. “The tune you were humming just now. Mr. Takanashi seems quite fond of that one, even though it’s not like the other stuff he listens to.”

Did he? “Oh,” she replied. He sang Mother’s song? How often? Maybe he’d know the words, and she could finally be able to look it up on the Internet. Any little piece Tsumugi could scavenge - any memory she could contain - was a huge victory to her. While she may not remember her mother well, she tried to keep her alive in little ways so she did not forget her completely.

Banri opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head with a smile. “Well then,” he said, “can I help you with anything while I’m here?”

“Oh, no!” Tsumugi waved her hands in front of her face. “No, you’re already so busy with the fan club and everything, I couldn’t possibly ask any more of you. Thank you so much for your hard work!”

“Alright then.” He waved. “Let me know if you do, all right? Keep it up.”

Tsumugi watched him walk away before shifting her gaze back to the window, thoughts lingering on her father. He obviously doted and loved mother dearly, if the pictures throughout the house were any indication. However, the more time passed, the less he talked about her. When was the last story, the last memory, told? Given both of their busy schedules, she had little time to even talk to her father about his day, let alone about mother.

She shuffled her papers together and then tapped her fingers along the keyboard. First, she needed to finagle these schedules into something more manageable, then address the members after their practice to see if they have any concerns. But before she left, she needed to catch her father and ask him about “Mother’s Song.” 

She resumed humming as she worked; the faint plip-plops of spring raindrops gave her a low bassline to her half-remembered solo performance.

***

“Lastly,” Tsumugi said, keeping her back straight and her shoulders straighter, “the progress for each member is steadily increasing. Mitsuki continues to make great leaps and bounds with his dancing, so I’m confident he should be at one hundred percent for next week’s shooting. MEZZO” has had an increase in appearances, and Tamaki has showed improvements in helping Sougo. Everything is in an upswing right now.” 

Her father patted the pink bunny in his lap, wrinkles around his eyes deepening from widening his grin. “Excellent, excellent,” he said. “Youths always perform much, much better after winter passes, don’t you think? Such excitement for sunshine. Maybe we should plan a little trip to celebrate.”

“Should I add it to my scheduling to-do list?”

“Please do. Thank you for your continuous hard work, Tsumugi. I am quite proud of your achievements so far.”

Her face flushed, but she coughed and pinched her palm as a self-reminder to stay professional. “Thank you, sir! I will keep doing my best for you, MEZZO”, and Idolish7!”

“Now, now. Don’t overdo it.” He smiled. “You may be a manager I employed, but first and foremost, you are my treasured daughter. I would hate to see you collapse under pressure if you take on too much.” He shook his head. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I suppose.”

Tsumugi hesitated - the window finally opened for her to bring up her nagging question of the day - before relaxing her stance. “Father?”

He raised his eyebrows, then leaned forward, smile turning gentler. “Yes, dear?”

“It’s just - I’ve been remembering something for quite some time now.” She clutched the papers in her hands a little tighter. “Mother used to hum a certain song a lot. Did - did you happen to know what it was, by any chance? The name, I mean.”

“A certain song…” He trailed off, as if lost in thought. The conversational lull made her father’s office seem all the smaller. He tilted his head, ruminating on the question, before clapping his hands together. “Tsumugi, are you done for the day, by any chance?”

“Huh? Um.” As much as she _could_ get done, at any rate; the to-do list appeared never-ending, like rush hour in the early morning. Her analogical car felt stalled, all the streetlights were red, and the clock tick-tick-tocked into an unacceptable level of lateness for all impending deadlines. She fixed all she could for today, but someday, she knew apologies would mean nothing to the ears of the higher ups. She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the welling exhaustion settling over her eyes. “Well…”

“Put those down with your worries,” he said, gesturing towards her ever-present papers, “and grab an umbrella, if you please. There’s somewhere I’ve been meaning to take you, and there’s no time like the present, as they say.”

“Eh?” Her eyes widened at his spontaneous request. Usually, her father planned everything three steps ahead - be it the member selection for Idolish7, their songs, or their varying debuts - but this seemed completely out of left field. “Um, right away! Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Outside, the rain drenched the city in a gray wash and made the large LED displays appear all the brighter. She quickened her pace to catch up to her father, who walked through the colorful umbrella swarms with ease. It always felt like this; a desperate game of catch-up, a game of one-sided tag she played while he remained none the wiser. Even now, even after she turned eighteen, his shoulders looked so broad, and his shoes, too big to fill. He strode forward, and the umbrellas parted, his air of confidence so subtle yet so commanding. She watched him for so long and still didn’t know how he did that, or how he managed a whole company while she struggled with just two idol groups.

But. Her heels clacked along the sidewalk, her stride longer than it used to be, her hand firm around her umbrella’s handle. But she could catch up a little better now. Just a little, but that’s still something. She stared at the back of his head while issuing apologies whenever she brushed arms with an impatient stranger.

She might not be her father, and probably never _would_ be, but she was getting closer to becoming _like_ him with each passing step.

“How much farther?”

Albeit each step caused her feet to ache. Maybe taking long strolls in the rain in high-heels wasn’t the best idea.

He laughed, as if he understood her agony. “Not much longer now.”

They parted from the homebound throes of busybodies and slowed while walking along an idle stream. The cherry blossoms opened up early this year, petals cascading onto the bricks and painting all the benches a soft pink. Tsumugi soaked her shoes while meandering in a daze, the fallen blossoms creating makeshift traps by covering puddles - but she barely noticed.

She’s been here before. If she closed her eyes, if she took in a deep breath, she could remember soft laughter, the taste of peanut butter, the insistent, repetitive _“Look, look!”_ at some baby ducklings swimming about in the waters below. She stopped, eyes widening slightly, lips parting.

“It’s been years, hasn’t it?” Her father stood beside one of the benches, thumb running along the aged wood. “We came here once a year around this time before she passed. Did I ever happen to tell you why?”

Tsumugi shook her head.

His gaze shifted to the sky, eyes softening. “Your mother loved to humor me. I owned a guitar when we dated, an acoustic. I plucked away at that thing to make up for being tone-deaf, although I didn’t want to admit it.” He laughed. “She encouraged me regardless, and asked me, while we dated, to write her a song. Looking back on it now, she probably didn’t mean she actually wanted me to - it was probably just a passing suggestion. But I took it. I took it and ran, and came up with a song overnight, just for her.”

He gestured to the bench.

“I played it right here. We engraved our initials on the back of this thing, and I had her sit down and listen to my performance - if you could call it that. To her credit, she didn’t laugh. Instead,” he turned towards Tsumugi, “she sang it all the time. Much better than _I_ ever did, I might add. She even sang it at our wedding. I almost cried when she did. Don’t tell anyone, though.” He gave her a wink. “It became a tradition thereafter. We would come here every year at about this time, and she sang the song I wrote for her while you played and we ate lunch.”

Affection oozed into his tone, and Tsumugi could almost see the flashbacks playing in his eyes, rose-colored and vibrant. She caught glimpses of washed-out brown locks, of soft smiles, of a large sun hat with a striking yellow ribbon. Despite the rain around them, her father’s world bathed in a phantom sunlight. 

“Could you,” she mustered, breaking the spell of silence, “could you sing it again?”

“It’s been some time.” He pulled off his expensive jacket and walked in front of the bench before spreading it out over the soaked wood. He sat down and patted the vacant spot next to him. “But for you, I would move mountains. Take a load off, stay awhile.”

She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt after sitting, pointedly staring at the stream to avoid any embarrassing eye-contact. She heard him take a few deep breaths, clear his throat, and smack his lips.

“Like I said, I’m tone-deaf. Don’t be expecting a miracle.” He let out a hearty laugh, and she gave him a reassuring smile. 

“I wouldn’t be much better,” she admitted. “Um - thank you. For doing this for me.”

“Not at all, not at all. Well then…”

He was right - he _was_ tone-deaf. Still, like a beat-up guitar missing one or two strings, it wasn’t absolutely terrible by any means. Mediocre, maybe. However, beyond the stumbling chords and limited vocal range, she could hear something far more important in his song: love. It oozed in every syllable, changing the otherwise drab performance to something special, something indescribable. When Tsumugi closed her eyes and allowed her father’s melody wash over her, a gaping ache for a time long passed nestled deep into her stomach. Her throat clenched when she tried to swallow a bitter taste down.

( _Tsumugi, come here. Let me help you._ Ghosts of now-cold fingers combed through her hair, pulling it back into the braids Tsumugi used to sport every day. _Look at your try this time, though! You almost got it. Your momma is so, so proud of you, kiddo. Keep trying, keep making mistakes. And eventually,_ the hair tie was fastened, _you’ll make it there. Not by yourself, of course - but with your momma and papa behind you. Don’t forget -_ )

“ _Like blossoms in the wind,_ ” he sang, and Tsumugi heard that lone guitar in the distance, almost muted by the rain, “ _our time together flies fast, and you all but float away -”_

( _\- even when you trip, we will always love you. No matter what._ )

“ _But it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. For I know, for I know, for I know, like blossoms in the wind, you’ll drift my way again someday.”_

Corny. The lyrics were absolutely corny, and definitely something her father would write. Her eyes stung, and her cheeks, even though her umbrella remained upright, became soaked. Her hair somehow got pulled over her shoulder and was tied into a slipshod braid as her fingernails picked at the split-ends. Her bottom lip quivered.

“Dad,” she whispered, “I miss her.”

His arm reached out and snagged her by the shoulders, pulling her close. She sniffed; crying for someone she barely remembered must have been strange, but in that moment, she wanted more than just a memory.

“Me too, dear.” She pretended to not hear him clear the cracks riddling his voice with a well-timed cough. “Me, too.”

He rubbed her back for a few moments in silence, staring aimlessly, before tilting his head down and smiling at her.

“She’d also be proud of you.”

Tsumugi wiped her face off with the back of her hands. “You - you think so?”

He nodded, and then handed her a handkerchief from his pant’s pocket. “Most definitely. You are our precious daughter, after all. To see you grow up has been the gift that keeps on giving. We both can’t wait to see where you’ll go next. No matter what.”

“No matter what,” she echoed. The sinking feeling in her stomach burst into butterflies fluttering full of resolve. She had promises - promises to herself, to her future, and to her parents, all with one dream: _be the happiest you can be, and work the hardest you can to get there._ “Dad,” she continued, “Dad, I never - I never really thanked you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“There’s no need.” He stood up and offered a hand to her. “I love you, after all.”

She hesitated, then took his hand before handing him his wet coat. The _yes, but_ never quite escaped her lips, as she had nothing to follow-up with. When her mother died, her father learned to cook better. He tried, failed, tried again, failed again, learned to braid Tsumugi’s hair. He knitted new pink mittens for her when her old ones developed holes, bought the grossest grape-flavored flu medicine for when her fever spiked, and hummed. He stood in the kitchen, where her mother once stood, _thump-thump-thump_ go the carrot slices, and hummed a crooked tune that drifted over Tsumugi as she watched her favorite cartoon shows in the living room.

It wasn’t perfect. It was awkward, and hard. But he tried to make up for her mother’s absence in any way he could. Through him, through all the little things, her mother stayed alive.

She smiled.

“I love you too, Dad.”

He walked her home, a hand pressed against her lower back to guide her. For a moment, she swore she could have felt another hand as well.

_And you, too, Mom._

***

“A new song? Already?” Riku perked up, trying to steal a glance at the sheet in Iori’s hands. “Amazing! When do we perform?”

“Well, actually,” Tsumugi admitted, pressing her shoes closer together, “this is going to be a song for a private performance for the planned break we have for all of you. It’s a special one-time deal.”

“This seems a lot more amatuer compared to the others.” Iori handed the sheet back to her, ignoring Riku’s protests to _let him see, let him see!_ “This isn’t by the same writer, is it?”

_“Huuuuuuh?”_ Nagi pursed his lips. “A new writer! Oh my God!”

“Did the other one get fired?” Mitsuki asked. “But they seemed so good.”

“No, no,” Tsumugi shook her head, “our writer wasn’t fired, don’t worry. Actually, our President doesn’t even know about me doing this.”

“About,” Yamato interjected, pushing up his glasses, “ _you_ doing this?”

“Wait a second.” Sougo tilted his head. “Did _you_ write the song, then?”

She flushed. “Erm - well - I can’t say - and I know I’m asking a lot from all of you, given how busy we’ve been, but--”

“Yeah,” Tamaki groaned, “ _real_ busy--”

“Be quiet,” Sougo mumbled, and Tamaki let out a startled _ow!_

“--I wanted to surprise our President as a ‘thank you’ for him and everything he’s done for us,” she finished, looking to the floor. Her cheeks burned. “If - if it sounds like a terrible idea, then we can just not do it, but I thought it would be nice. Um. Thank you for listening to me, at least.” 

The studio fell into an awkward pause. Tsumugi took the paper and looked it over; she couldn’t remember all of the words, but she tried to stay as true to her father’s song as much as she could. Maybe she was asking too much of them. They didn’t really owe her anything, and she was asking such a big favor - 

“ _Well,_ ” Nagi said, swiping the paper out of her hands, “where do I sign up?”

Everyone else let out a collective, “Huh?”

“I’m _obviously_ not going to disappoint a pretty lady in her time of need.” Nagi waved the piece of paper towards the others. “Come on, come on! Let’s do this! It sounds like a lot of fun, right? Let’s all perform it together for our manager!”

“I’m pretty sure it’s for the _President,_ not her--” Iori started.

“So? We can make them _both_ smile at the same time. Isn’t that what we do for a living?” Nagi leaned in close as Iori held up both hands, turning away. “Let’s do it, _baby!”_

His infectious enthusiasm spread from member to member, with each asking for a copy to look it over. Tsumugi bit her bottom lip as a pleasant joy spread from the tips of her toes to her ears. Wonderful. Idolish7 was absolutely, positively wonderful. They’ve always granted her dreams to come true, and now, they would even do what her own words could not. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, clutching the clipboard closer to her chest and closing her eyes, “thank you all. For everything.”

(She resolved to work harder on their behalf after seeing the look on her father’s face once he realized what they were all singing during their outing. She never saw a smile so wide on his face in such a long, long time.

Like blossoms in the wind, her mother’s favorite song danced around them and scattered into the warming skies that held infinite possibilities for their futures to come.)


End file.
